Need of Me
by Liete
Summary: -UK/US, AU- 'He wants to forget like he did. Because if he can just let go so easily, why not do the same'


**Need of Me  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

**A/N: Based loosely on the film _Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind_.**

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* * *

**

He wants to forget.

He wants to forget like _he_ did. Because if _he_ can just let go so easily, why not do the same?

_Just go to sleep. When you wake up, you won't have to remember._

* * *

"You were with Francis again, weren't you?"

He watches in fascination the scene unfolding before him. His…_Arthur's_ scathing tone and icy glare, and Alfred's clueless shrug as he stuffs a donut in his mouth. The moment everything ended.

"Yeah? He's my friend, so what?"

He scoffs at the same time Arthur does. "Francis is never just friends with anyone."

Alfred stiffens and his brow furrows. "What're you saying?"

"Has he _fucked_ you yet?" He mouths the words as Arthur says them, and he still feels a pang of regret.

"You're kidding right? You can't possibly be serious," Alfred says thickly, his eyes going cold.

"Why not? You're always cozying up to everyone, I doubt Francis was the first."

They're locked in a stare down for a few moments, and then Alfred lets out a derisive bark of a laugh.

"You know what, Artie? Fuck _you_," Alfred seethes through clenched teeth, grabs his bomber jacket and stomps towards the door.

"Alfred, wait-!" Arthur gasps vainly and stumbles to his feet. He can plainly see the panic in Arthur's eyes, regret for his words finally catching up to him. Alfred slams the door in his face as Arthur tries to reach him, but Arthur wrenches the door open and sprints after Alfred's retreating back.

"Alfred, please. I didn't mean-"

"Yeah, you did, Arthur," Alfred interrupts in a resigned voice as he hits the button for the elevator. "And I don't want to deal with this anymore."

He now can also plainly see the hurt on Alfred's face as he steps onto the elevator, Arthur too busy slamming his fist against the wall as the elevator doors slide shut.

A few days later he goes to make amends and learns that Alfred had erased him completely from his memory.

He's not upset to lose those memories.

* * *

He watches as Alfred and Arthur walk along the boardwalk, really such a cliché spot for a first date (though he knows that Arthur is most certainly refusing to believe that it's really a date), the stark contrast between Alfred's casual dress and countenance and Arthur's ironed and pressed sweater vest and trousers and perpetual scowl all the more obvious from this point of view.

Alfred is not deterred by Arthur's stubborn refusal to loosen up and presses on to have a good time and drag the Englishman with him. Alfred buys Arthur cotton candy, wins a stuffed animal (he keeps it), rides the ferris wheel, plays skee ball. Alfred never once comments on his eyebrows.

It will take Arthur a few days to admit that he'd had fun, but only a few moments to answer his mobile after they part when the caller ID says it's Alfred.

* * *

"You should see the sort of things Artie collects!"

He hears Alfred's voice from across the room, but doesn't see Arthur. A hand claps on his shoulder, one of their friends, and he realizes he's not watching the memory, he's _in_ it.

"Yeah, he likes unicorns and fairies and shit like that. Got all sorts of stuffed animals!"

Alfred's drunk, but that doesn't excuse his infuriating behavior. He's supposed to tell him off before leaving in a huff, but Alfred's drunken laughter, mixed with the laughter of their friends at his expense makes him want to do something else entirely.

So he does, and punches Alfred square in the face.

It won't change anything, especially as the scene dissolves before him, but it sure feels good.

* * *

He doesn't like trains. They're always crammed with people. Uncomfortable, crowded. Someday he'll buy a car so he won't have to deal with them anymore.

He happens to look up and there's eyes on him. A blond with glasses several rows in front of him is staring at him. When he meets his gaze, the man smiles brightly and waves. He rolls his eyes and resumes looking out the window.

He looks up again a few minutes later and the man has moved back a couple rows. Once again, there's a bright smile and a wave when their gazes meet. He waves his hand in a "go away" gesture and scowls out the window. It continues, the moving back a couple rows and waving, until the train reaches its next stop and then the man makes his way towards him.

"Mind if I sit here?" He motions to the coat he's laid across the empty seat next to him, his silent way of telling people to leave him alone.

He frowns. "Why yes, as a matter of fact, I _do_ mind."

The man shrugs and sits unceremoniously of top of the coat. He fumes.

"You bloody git! What did I just say?"

"Alfred Jones," the man continues blithely along and holds out his hand.

"Go to hell then, Jones," he hisses in reply and opens up a paper.

Alfred continues to chatter on, not seeming to care that he's being ignored, and follows when he gets off the train. To get him off his back, he gives Alfred his phone number.

* * *

"Relax, Alfred," he hears himself say and it takes only a moment to realize what memory he's in.

Alfred is beneath him, eyes dark with desire, but also wide with hesitation and blinking back tears as he nudges inside him.

He bends over and kisses Alfred deeply, nuzzling his cheek as he pulls away. "Alfred, relax," he repeats, "I promise it'll feel really… 'awesome' if you just relax."

Alfred nods and throws his head back, taking deep, calming breaths. He smiles and moves slowly, only picking up his pace when Alfred moves beneath him and his breaths become shallow with something that has nothing to do with pain.

He's not in control of this memory, but he's thankful he's experiencing it and not simply watching it. He feels with startling clarity the emotions that had been coursing through him at the time. Oh _god_, he'd been in love with Alfred. And not just because the American looks so beautiful sprawled out like that, flushed and wanting him. _Wanting_ him.

"A-Arthur," Alfred gasps out and he realizes how close they both are, no matter how much he doesn't want it to end. He chokes on Alfred's name as he comes, Alfred spilling between them as he collapses onto his chest.

_I don't want to forget this_, he thinks as he rolls off Alfred to lie next to him. _Let me keep this memory._

Alfred pulls him close and kisses him softly, and he's aware that Alfred is murmuring something against his lips, but what it is he can't hear. Before he can respond, Alfred is gone.

* * *

"When are you going to tell me more about yourself, Artie?"

He watches as Arthur squirms out of Alfred's embrace, away from lips pressing against his neck and blue eyes wide and pleading.

"There's nothing to say," Arthur says curtly and pulls on his shirt.

Alfred sits up and stretches. "I've told you everything about me! Even the embarrassing personal stories I haven't even told my brother!"

"That's your prerogative," Arthur snaps in reply and searches for his trousers.

"You just don't trust me," Alfred mumbles quietly and holds out the pants.

Arthur's head whips around and he snatches the garment out of Alfred's hands. "Don't be ridiculous."

Alfred says something else then, but there's a sharp screech like feedback and he screws his eyes shut in a wince and doesn't catch what's said. When he opens his eyes, Arthur's green eyes are wide and briefly vulnerable, before he slips into the trousers and rushes out the door.

* * *

Alfred's coming to meet him at the airport, he thinks giddily and then reels at the abrupt change in the type of memory. He's in control again, he notices and he grips determinedly at his carryon.

Alfred will be there waiting. Alfred will run to meet him and sweep him into a hug. He'll protest that they're in public and shouldn't be so openly affectionate. Alfred will kiss him to shut him up.

But this time, now that he's in control, he meets Alfred halfway, crushing their lips together and clinging like he never wants to let go (he doesn't, he never did). He savors the taste of Alfred's mouth (mint chapstick, coffee and hamburgers), the softness of his hair beneath his fingers, those glasses pressing almost painfully against his face, those arms around him.

"I've missed you," he breathes at the same time as Alfred and smiles deliriously as Alfred kisses him again.

He's beginning to forget many things about Alfred, but this…_this_ he wants to hold onto.

Once again Alfred murmurs something against his lips, but the memory slips away before he can determine what it is.

* * *

"Happy anniversary!"

Alfred is slipping him a small wrapped gift, and he feels a pang of remorse as he knows what's inside. He's not in control, and he can't stop what's happening.

"You'd give me such a cheap piece of jewelry? It would turn my finger green if I wore it!"

Alfred's face falls, but he quickly regains his composure and laughs it off. He doesn't laugh with him, feeling cheated out of a real anniversary present.

He keeps the ring, though, treasures it, realizing after the fact that it's a token of love, cheap or not.

It's been thrown out with all the other things that remind him of Alfred, however.

* * *

They're back at the boardwalk again, he notices. It's a warm, summer night on the 4th of July, and Alfred wants to see the fireworks. Arthur comes along, not because he wants to celebrate the holiday, but because he wants to be with Alfred.

The fireworks burst above their heads, and he watches as Alfred takes Arthur's hand. Arthur starts and gapes at Alfred.

He watches as _his_ (Alfred's! _Alfred_, he desperately reminds himself) hands cup Arthur's face, tenderness in his eyes. He knows Arthur's heart is pounding, because his feels like it's beating out of his chest. Alfred licks his lips, his cheeks flushing slightly and he leans forward to whisper-there's static again, and he can't hear what Alfred was going to say.

But this time he _sees_ the words on those lips and the tears roll down his cheeks at the same time as Arthur's, for an entirely different reason. Arthur throws himself at Alfred, kissing him desperately.

It's in a sort of panic that he rushes forward, hoping to catch the kissing couple, as though if he could just _hold on_ to that person (Alfred! Alfred!) he won't have to forget this.

He doesn't want to forget.

* * *

His alarm blares and the sunlight streams in his open windows. He doesn't remember leaving the blinds up, but then, he feels, that's not the only thing he's forgotten.

* * *

His heart aches.

He has everything he needs in his life, he thinks. A good job, a home, reliable friends.

He tries to fill the void with various distractions. A holiday in England (the ache intensifies when he realizes whatever he's missing isn't in his homeland), blind date after blind date, a new hobby or two, knitting scarves for Christmas presents.

He has a car now, he doesn't need to take the train, but one day he does. There's no reason for it, he's just compelled one day.

He remembers why he bought the car in the first place. Trains are always crammed with people. Uncomfortable, crowded. He regrets it and thinks of getting off at the next stop and hailing a taxi instead.

He looks up and there's eyes on him. A blond with glasses several rows in front of him is staring at him. Intense, focused. The sort of gaze that would normally make one feel violated, like their soul was being laid bare for all to see. Instead, he returns that gaze, realizing that his heart is pounding with anticipation, the ache gone.

The train stops and the man staring at him stands with the others shuffling off. He thinks if he gets off the train, he'll have to follow, but instead the man makes his way towards him.

"Mind if I sit here?" He motions to the coat he's laid across the empty seat next to him, a silent request to leave him alone.

He removes the coat and smiles slightly. "I don't mind at all."


End file.
